Gemotions

He ran his hand through his thinning hair, the gesture a nervous tic he couldn’t shake. The crisp hundred-dollar bills, meticulously stacked in the wallet, seemed to burn against the inside of his jacket pocket. He should turn it in, of course.

The library was quiet, the hushed whispers of the other patrons amplifying his inner turmoil. He couldn't focus on the book he had picked up, a worn copy of Plato. He felt a profound sense of unease, a hollowness that echoed within him.

He pictured the woman he had seen drop the wallet, her face etched with worry as she chased after her child. He knew what he *should* do, but the thought of his own mounting debts, the constant pressure, gnawed at him. Each page turn was a fresh reminder of the ethical burden he now bore.